


Jonah

by A_Love_Song_She_Wrote



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Acceptance, Anger, Angst, Bargaining, Blood, Broken Bones, Bruises, Canonical Character Death, Chains, Denial, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Torture, Momentarily, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, So much angst, Whump, acceptance of death, happy ending kind of, he lives, kind of, not an x reader lol, oh my god poor boy, someone hug him omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29129787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Love_Song_She_Wrote/pseuds/A_Love_Song_She_Wrote
Summary: Douxie takes some time to process Merlin's death, and his own.  By that I mean he's forced to.  And by that I mean he's chained to a wall waiting to die again, and he has nothing better to do than think things over.Aka Douxie speedruns the five stages of grief and it gets him to break out of prison.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Jonah

**Author's Note:**

> please heed the tags, this one is s a d
> 
> (also it isn't an x reader lol)

There are five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Hisirdoux Casperan was about to go through all five at near record-breaking speed.

It wasn’t his choice, of course. He had to get attacked in a dark alley after working late, kidnapped by his attackers, tortured for information on Nari’s whereabouts and chained to a wall to even begin the process. 

With his arms suspended above him, death on the horizon and no obvious way out, there wasn’t much to do but think. Process. Grow delirious with stress and sleep deprivation until he could  _ see _ every bad thing playing out before him.

The wizard’s breath was shaky. The whole  _ wizard _ was shaky. The poor man was left alone in a cold, dark and damp cell to await his demise. He had nothing to do but choke on the freezing air around him and contemplate the past and his very grim future.

Douxie could feel his arms going numb. He shut his eyes, deciding to go with it. If he went numb, he went numb. He just thought, “This is fine,” over and over again, lying to himself in an attempt to preserve some of his sanity. It didn’t work well. The next time he opened his eyes, he saw  _ Merlin. _

Merlin. Why Merlin? Why the mentor and master he’d looked up to for literal  _ centuries?  _ The same man who had died in his arms and left him with instructions that he couldn’t read. Instructions that, when translated, left him with one choice.

Upon seeing this lovely and  _ vivid _ hallucination, Douxie shut his eyes. He had to, otherwise, he would start believing that his father figure actually stood before him. He had to shut down and tune out the voice of his master, berating him for ending up here.

“I give my life to save you and this is how you repay me?”

“You’re weak, and even more worthless than I’d feared.”

“Will you not face me? Look at me Hisirdoux. Look at me.  **_ Look at me.” _ **

Douxie was not going to look. If he did, it would break down the fantasy he’d been living in for the past few months. The one where Merlin was alive and sleeping, the one where he himself had never died, the one where this, all of this, was just an elaborate task he’d been asked to complete. If he took even one look, that world would fall apart. Merlin would be dead. And Douxie would be too.

But Merlin? Merlin, or, rather, fake Merlin, did not care. He didn’t care about anything at all. He was simply a figment of Douxie’s imagination. A manifestation of all the torment that he’d suffered through. Merlin was everything and nothing all at once. And he was a monster.

“Look at me, Hisirdoux.”

“Look at me.”

**_ “I SAID LOOK AT ME.” _ **

Something in the cell smashed. Something was broken. And still, he stayed. Douxie stayed, looking down and shivering, eyes shut tight and a headache building in the back of his skull. He’d been yelled at before. By Merlin, by strangers, by the people keeping him locked up here, but none of it had been quite like this. 

He wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed, which didn’t matter too much since time isn’t real, but eventually, it got to him. Of course it did.  _ It always did. _ Eventually, he looked. 

And for a second, everything was real. All of it. Merlin was dead. Douxie himself had  _ died _ and he was  _ going to die, _ _ again _ . For a second it was real, and all of his walls fell down. Because Merlin was there, and he wasn’t away in a cave, sleeping, and he wasn’t there to save him, or do anything to help. Merlin was there. And then he was gone.

Douxie was alone again.

That wasn’t too out of the ordinary, actually. Douxie had been alone for a very long time. He had Archie, to be fair, but the familiar could not physically be there all of the time. So, Douxie ended up on his own. It just happened sometimes. But why did it have to be now?

Why now? Why was he on his own, stuck in this  _ hell _ with his own thoughts? Why was he stuck here dying, all over again? Why did he  _ keep dying? _

Douxie didn’t even notice that he was crying now. His eyes were shut again, tighter this time if that was possible, and he was crying. Tears fell down his cheeks and he didn’t have the strength to care. He could only sob, quietly into his knees. 

He was left like this. He was  _ always _ left like this. Why did he keep sacrificing himself, over and over again to save the greater good? Why did this keep happening to him? A choked sob turned into a laugh. This kept happening because he let it. Douxie knew that he wouldn’t leave this place, but if he by some miracle managed to escape… he would do all of this again. He’d put others before himself because he  _ had _ to. For him, at least, there was no other option.

He slammed his hands against the wall and bit his lip when he felt them bruise. 

And then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

Anything. He’d do anything just to  _ feel _ something in his hands. Really he’d do anything to get  _ out _ of here. He’d break his wrists, his hands if he had to, anything to see the sky again. To see Archie. Zoe. Nari. Anything to see Arcadia, to go  _ home. _ He just wanted to go home. 

And he couldn’t. And he knew that. Douxie went limp in his chains. He… he was really stuck here, wasn’t he? He was going to die here. Here in this dark,  _ hateful _ place, he was going to draw his last breaths here. He struggled to swallow. It felt like someone was choking him, like a hand was constricting around his throat. He wished that whatever choked him now would just kill him. He was going to die, and he would never see his home again. He would never do anything he loved, or see anyone he cared about. He would die here. 

And he would die for them. He would die so that Nari and Archie could get away from whatever the Order sent after them that week. He would die so that the Order wouldn’t end the world in a fiery blaze of magic. He would die to keep the forest spirit from the Seals. He knew he would. He’d always known that. He’d done it before, and he was going to do it again.

It seemed that would always be his fate. Douxie would always end his life a martyr. He’d never get to live beyond that. He could hide behind music and minimum wage jobs all he wanted, but he? He was destined for greater things. For self-sacrifice and unhappy endings. That’s just what happens to mentors, to teachers and guides. Merlin was a mentor to him, and he was gone. Douxie was a mentor to Claire, and he was going. He was just part of someone else’s hero’s journey. 

His life meant nothing, in the long run, he knew that. But did its end have to be so grisly? 

Maybe it did. And if so… then so it would be. If this was how it ended, then maybe that was okay. 919 years was a long time. Maybe now he could rest. Maybe now, he could sleep. He could sleep. He would sleep.

Douxie went from limp to relaxed, slowly, but surely. He unclenched his jaw, unfurrowed his brow, and let his hands hang from their place above him. The wizard leaned back against the wall, trying his best to ignore the blood dripping down his arm. He must have torn his skin when he was fighting against his restraints.

He sat in silence for a moment, awaiting his doom until he remembered  _ exactly _ what that meant.

He could fight this.

He  _ should _ fight this.

Would he end up in this exact situation again? Probably, but that wasn’t an excuse to stop fighting. If he could get out, if he could get  _ home, _ he would. He wanted to go home. He  _ would _ go home. 

Besides, if he wasn’t around to take the hard hits, who would? He didn’t want to think about that, so he got to work.

The act of breaking, dislocating, and otherwise mangling his own hands and wrists to escape a pair of too-tight chains was not fun, but it was the only way to get out of his current predicament. Once freed, the wizard could see just how  _ badly _ he’d hurt his hands. Red and purple blotches covered his skin, already made slick from his blood. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Douxie knew for a fact that the bones in his hands were  _ not _ supposed to bend that way. But he was free. And that was good enough for him.

He struggled to his feet, trying not to pass out from the pain both he and his captors had put him through. Somehow, he managed and made his way to the wall across from him. He leaned there, for a moment, and looked up. A window sat carved into the wall, just above his head. Had that always been there? It didn’t matter. Douxie didn’t care. It was time to go.

Was pulling himself up and over the edge of the window one of the most painful things Douxie had ever had to do in his long life? Yes. But was it worth it to watch the shocked faces of his captors as he slipped off into the night? Also yes. It turns out his decision to choose life couldn’t have come at a better time.

Douxie was free now. He wasn’t sure how long it would last if it lasted at all, but that didn’t matter. He was on his way. He was going home, and maybe, just maybe, he was continuing on his own hero’s journey. 

**Author's Note:**

> haha, sad.
> 
> here's a fun fact to cheer you up, this is called Jonah because it takes place a theoretical low point in douxie's theoretical hero's journey. That low point is sometimes called "the belly of the whale" because, y'know, Jonah and the whale. Ig that makes Douxie Jonah. anyway, have a nice night.


End file.
